


I Can Never Think of Anyone But You

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-21
Updated: 2007-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are worse ways to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Never Think of Anyone But You

**Author's Note:**

> nymeria asked me for schmoopy Heartverse porn. I don't know how schmoopy this turned out, but hopefully she'll like it anyway. Inteterminate timeline; sometime after the school was founded.

Dean sometimes wakes him with a hand on either cheek, spreading him apart to lick slow and lingeringly from Sam's balls to his lower back. Sam twitches and gasps every time, head bolting up from the pillow before Dean's hand—his ring hand, the silver distinct against vertebra—on the small of Sam's back soothes him down again.

Then, because inevitably Sam's feeling kind of slutty ('cause Dean does that to him), he'll flop back down and spread his legs wider to the rich sound of Dean's chuckle, muffled a moment later by Dean pressing his face again between Sam's thighs.

There are different moods to this.

Sometimes, Dean likes to spin it out. His thumbs feather across the inside of Sam's thighs, up over the curves of his ass and then inside them. He licks and teases until Sam feels blood flush there, where Dean's tongue pushes into him and makes him open. Dean is slow and agonizingly thorough, patient the way he only is with this—sex with Sam—and their weapons. Sam will go hoarse with wanting, with begging, his hands clenched up tight and his feet cramping with curl. And Dean will tongue him, again and again, smiling against his flesh at every groan and whimper Sam makes.

Sometimes Dean's feeling playful; he confines himself to tiny, pointed laps and suckles, circling Sam again and again only to pull back each time Sam thrusts back, desperate for friction, for penetration. But he only gets the flat of Dean's hand, cracking hard against his skin, warning to hold still, hold on. He gets the scrape of teeth—light enough to tingle, firm enough to make him still, knees and elbows digging helplessly into the mattress. Sweat glosses his spine and he thrusts against the sheets like the kid he was instead of a man full-grown. Dean will shoulder Sam's legs apart so wide that his feet fall off to either side and then nibble across the tight, sensitive skin there until Sam's thighs cramp and shake from the effort of not pulling together. Sam talks only in noises, incoherent, helpless sounds that Dean nonetheless understands all too well, listening to them with a musician's ear before he'll take pity and part Sam enough to plunge his tongue deep, wiggling and warm. Sam pushes his face hard into the pillows and screams and screams, afraid of who'll hear, who'll come running if he sounds like he's dying, even if it is dying good.

There are the times it's hard, rough; the times when he knows Dean's had one of his nightmares, the bad ones, where Sam is gone or dead and Dean is alone. Sam has bruises on those morning, temporary tattoos of _mine_ and _don't leave me_ smudged into his hips, his thighs, the meat of his ass. He'll be bitten and chewed, fucked with tongue and fingers both only until he's wide enough and wet enough to take Dean's cock and then Dean will flip him, blinking, onto his back, put his shoulders under Sam's thighs, bend Sam nearly in half and then fuck him angrily, his eyes wild and scared. Sam's learned not to reach for him, not to try and soothe him, only reach down and spread himself wider, only hold his brother's eye with both of his own, unwavering until Dean's spurts inside of him with a cry somewhere between a snarl and a sob. When it's over, Sam pushes Dean back onto the mattress and brings himself off with rough, fast strokes, spilling his come all over Dean's overheated skin. " _Mine,_ " he tells Dean, aloud, and then covers his brother's body with his, smearing the fluid between them.

However it goes, it always ends the same way.

Sam finds a certain security in that.

Besides, there are worse ways to wake up.


End file.
